Red October
by TheWickedQuill
Summary: The survivors' eyes were hollow, hearts like lead, and yet they moved with purpose and care.'


Rating: PG  
Pairing: M/A implied  
Genre: Tragedy/Angst  
Type: Standalone  
Setting: About a year after Freak Nation. A depressing could-have-been.

**Summary**: The survivors' eyes were hollow, hearts like lead, and yet they moved with purpose and care.

**Disclaimer:** Dark Angel and all related elements belong to Cameron Eglee Productions and FOX. No copyright infringement intended. Only original characters and ideas are mine. All use of Dark Angel themes, etc., is purely for entertainment purposes and I am in no way receiving benefit of any kind (aside from the satisfaction of writing things as I see fit!)

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**RED OCTOBER  
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The streets were strewn with bodies. Sightless eyes, limbs riddled with bullets, streaks of crimson and deep rust staining the concrete.

The population of Terminal City had been practically decimated. The small straggle of survivors worked tirelessly, removing debris and rubble to extract and bury their fallen comrades.

The air was thick with smoke and dust, the metallic and sickening stench of decay and stale blood was heavy and oppressive. The survivors' eyes were hollow, hearts like lead, and yet they moved with purpose and care. Leaning on one another, drawing strength from and comforting each other.

The tattered remains of their community hung on by a thread. It was the bleakness and despair that settled in the aftermath of the tragic battle that brought them together that cold, wet night.

The siege had lasted twenty-eight days. Almost a full month's worth of fighting; for their families, their friends, their freedom, their very right to exist. A month they would forever remember as Red October.

They lay entwined together, having reaffirmed that they were, indeed, alive. That they would go on, grow, lead lives their friends and loved ones had been denied. It hadn't been a conscious decision; more a chance encounter over the body of a fallen soldier and close friend. They'd broken down together, arms encircling the other and holding tight in their shared grief. It was a combination of shock, loss, fear and need.

They woke separately. She rose early, gathered her ripped and soiled clothing and stole from the room silently. His eyes opened to emptiness; she'd left and he wasn't even sure she'd ever been there. He couldn't detect her scent. The devastation of Terminal City was overpowering even his superhuman senses. Had it all been a dream?

Months passed in silence. Somber faces and reserved attitudes were the norm. Quiet conversation buzzed from time to time, but in the past they'd been overridden by her commanding, booming voice or shrill expressions of annoyance, usually directed at him. They no longer spoke, instead working side by side in silence.

Everyone noticed how subdued she'd become. How she removed herself from the living, separating herself from the few who remained standing, not involving herself much in rebuilding their community. She looked gaunt and drawn, pale. He could swear her eyes were red and puffy more often than not, perhaps from crying or perhaps the ever-present dust, but he never uttered a word about it. None of them did. All tears had long since been shed and done with and stoicism seemed to be what got them through each passing day.

Their enemies still would not let them be. The government was after them, the American people were after them, the Familiars were after them. The cycle seemed never-ending and battle continued, slowly weeding the shattered remainder of the Transgenics of Seattle.

Summer arrived, not that anyone really noticed. The days and nights at war left them wary and worn. Security was weakened and food became scarce. And the fighting continued.

After one particularly brutal confrontation with White and his band of merry men, she didn't come home. He couldn't afford to send out a search team; they were simply spread too thin. But he wouldn't leave her. He couldn't leave her. No matter how they'd drifted apart, they'd still shared something too precious, too intense. Even before that night, they'd had a connection he wouldn't deny.

And so he set out alone, stumbling over the crumbled brick and broken walls of what had once been their home. He no longer noticed the blood stains. The sights and smells that were death and destruction. Terminal City was a city no longer. They didn't have the manpower to clear all the bodies or inter them properly. The grisly sight had become commonplace, just part of their daily routine.

It was for that very reason he almost missed her. Tossed carelessly to the side of the road, eyes wide and mouth open, her hair splayed behind her, dark stains on her face and chest.

Gone.

She was gone.

One shot. A single gunshot to her left breast.

He raised his head and settled empty eyes on the horizon. The sun blazed in the summer sky, a light breeze shook the trees. The weather was beautiful; in stark contrast with the ugly reality that lay at his feet.

He should cry. For the pain and the loss, he knew he should cry.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't cry.

Lifting the woman he could have loved into his arms and carrying her back to the last few soldiers left in their make-shift Command Center, he knew he wouldn't cry.

It was a dry July.

- FIN -


End file.
